The Old Beau

He was a gay deceiver when
The century was young, they say,
And triumphed over other men,
And wooed the girls, and had his way.

No maiden ever said him nay;
No rival ever crossed him then;
And painters vied to paint him when
The century was young, they say.

Now the new dogs must have their day;
And the old beau has found that when
He pleads things go another way,
And lonely 'mong the younger men,
He hears their heartless laughter when
He boasts about that other day.
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